WHEELS - 2

The sky above was darkening. Yet, in contrast, a brilliant gleam shone from his eyes "We won. Did you hear that, Anna? We won." He spoke softly, almost in disbelief. He had been so certain the opposition would take an unquestioned win. Miguel realized all of Polaria's people begged for freedom and would vote against hard-line military dictatorship, but the Commandant wasn't a stupid man. If the Nationalists really wanted this election, it would have been won, by ANY means.

Was it possible there was interference on the Liberty Party's side? Something, perhaps, to counteract the Captain? No. He wouldn't think of that just yet. Miguel Cordova looked into her admiring eyes. "Perhaps you don't have to go now,” he said, hopefully.

The joy and relief Cinnamon Carter felt when the political announcement had been made over Miguel's car radio suddenly turned into confusion. The man had grown fond of her. That was expected. If he hadn't, the entire mission might have failed. Feeling no pity, Cordova would simply have ignored her pleas for mercy and left ‘Anna Cro’ to the foreign police. But Miguel wasn't that sort of man. "I wish that were possible," she smiled, sadly. Slowly, the woman leaned up and forward, planting a soft kiss on his unexpecting mouth.

Her lips were warm, almost melting. Miguel would remember that.

"I wish things were different." Cinnamon had access to Miguel's files before their first meeting. The woman already knew of his political imprisonment. The marks of manacles would forever scar his wrists. WHY he was arrested, she couldn't be certain. She could only assume the man's natural sense of what was right interfered with the thinking of his county's superiors. Nevertheless, after the war, he was able to re-register for the vote... And, in sense, won his battle. A country's adaptability would never surprise her.... especially when a Nationalist government found themselves in the wrong.

"Things will be different now," he whispered, a hopeful vigor radiating in his expression.

"I hope so." Parting from him, Cinnamon walked quickly to the awaiting bus. It would take her to Copalina where Dan and the rest would be lodged. Then, the following day they would board a plane and return to the United States. She was unable to prevent a last look at Miguel, then boarded.

He stood, watching her from the side of his stalled VW Bug. The gas station attendant said it would be fixed by morning. It took all the self-control he could muster not to run after her, begging her to stay. The last time Cordova felt such a surge of emotion was when he'd mourned his wife, Margara. Such a flower she had been!

When the bus pulled away Miguel was left with a hollow feeling. For a brief time, in spite of the desperate circumstances, he had felt happy. Now, for reasons unknown, the object of his growing affection would probably never return. Miguel realized it was foolish to become emotional over such things. But, he couldn't understand Anna's quickness to leave. For awhile it seemed she'd genuinely returned his fond feelings.

'She has family, perhaps...' Miguel reasoned and suddenly smiled. 'She is safe. That's what matters'

             *                   *                    *                   

When Cinnamon's bus pulled into the station, she was still thoughtful. The entire five-hour trip had been hot, sweaty and uncomfortable, in spite of having been driven during the cooler night. Yet, she hadn't noticed the heat and darkness. The woman could only think of poor Miguel and the possible danger the IMF had placed him in. While it was true that his Liberty Party had won, and Polaria was now a free country - extricated from the dictatorship of cruel government officials - the new reign wouldn't truly take over or go into official effect for another month.

That part bothered her. But more so was in the idea of Cordova making an all too soon appearance at his bookstore in the 12th District.  Captain Traise and the Commandant had seen Miguel (as portrayed by Rollin) collapse, do to 'heart failure'. They, along with several other citizens, had also seen him carted away in an emergency vehicle, which was supposed to be taking him to a hospital. Now, how would it look for this perfectly healthy man to set up shop only a day after his affliction? Certainly he'd be questioned. What type of answers could he give?

As hard as Cinnamon tried to shake the feeling, she couldn't. Miguel might find himself suffering through painful interrogations before the Liberty Party was able to take full control. A confused Cordova would be able to tell them nothing of importance. And certainly he wouldn't tell them about his valiant escapade at removing escapee ‘Anna Cro’ from the eyes of their searching police. He was too gallant and, besides, such information could cause more problems than he already had!

The attractive spy shook herself. This was foolish. More than likely, Captain Traise and his Commandant were hiding their heads in shame. Not only did they lose the election, but any evidence of sabotage would show them for what they truly were -- ignorant fools. After all, the voting machines were being held in their own police station, protected by armed guards. How could they look their superiors straight in the face and say they thought the station machine were broken into - devices tampered with right under their noses? They might be shot on sight. No. For those two the best action would be to ignore the mystery of the suddenly up and about Miguel Cordova and accept defeat without a struggle.

Cinnamon felt immediately better. Standing on the bus station floor, in the heavy flow of native well wishers, she finally spotted Rollin Hand. He’d had been looking for her ever since the trail of buses pulled in. He was dressed as she was; out of fashion. A peasant husband, meeting his young wife.

When they made contact, he held her in his arms and kissed her tenderly. His wife had been on a long visit to Tanda, a city several miles away. "It went without a hitch," he whispered in her ear.

Cinnamon could have laughed. Those were hardly the words a lonely, deprived wife wanted to hear after such a long bus drive. As they walked, she asked softly, "What about Barney? How's he doing?"

Their electronics expert had been unexpectedly shot during a prison break out and riot at the beginning of the perilous mission. He, however, refused to return to the United States until the mission was completed and he had done his part.

"Barney's fine." Rollin smiled. "He's lost blood and almost passed out while rigging the machines, but we got him shuttled off an hour ago. Willy's with him. By the time we get back to the States, he should be up and about in a hospital room."

“That's a relief." Cinnamon sighed and could feel the tense muscles around her neck relax. As Rollin's arm rested across her shoulders she could only think, “Thank God it's all over!”

********

By the time Rollin and Cinnamon had arrived at the motel room, (Rollin had signed in as 'Mr. Dias' and laughingly told the clerk that he was going to surprise his wife with a sudden second honeymoon), Dan Briggs - chief of the Impossible Missions Force - was pacing the floor in agitation and deep thought.

He'd checked into a room down the hall but waited in the larger for the couple's return. Stepping through the doorway, Cinnamon looked at her boss with concern. Rollin didn't seem to notice Dan's new mood. He moved directly to his equipment and began to check out a make up kit. The jostling in the escape van (disguised as an ambulance) had caused predictable damage to a couple bottles of liquid latex and cracked several plastic molds. It couldn't be helped, Rollin knew, but he sometimes wished there were less exciting, gentler ways of completing missions.

Finally, without formality, Cinnamon questioned Briggs, "What's the matter Dan?"

"We've been told not to interfere, so it doesn't matter." He spoke hollowly, through half angry, clenched teeth. "I hate when something like this happens."

Rollin turned from the mess in his kit and stared at Briggs for a moment or two. Cinnamon glanced once in the agent's direction, then back again at his superior. “Did something go wrong with our mission?" he asked. Then, in second thought, "Wait did Barney have a turn for the worse?"

Dan shook his head, "Nothing like that. Our part of this mission and Barney are both in good shape...."

"Then?" Cinnamon could feel her fists tighten in impatience.

Briggs really didn't know whether he wanted to tell them or not, but they truly weren't giving him choice. "An hour ago I made contact with The Secretary. I needed to update him on our progress and also wanted to see if Barney and Willy had arrived on schedule. The Secretary informed me that Barney and Willy were fine and being debriefed at a hospital in Los Angeles." Dan sighed and continued, "Unfortunately, he also informed me that secret sources in Washington report," Dan bit his lower lip for a moment and looked deeply into Cinnamon's eyes, "Miguel Cordova has just been arrested."

"What?" Even though this had been a fear of hers Cinnamon couldn't believe her ears, "Miguel?”

"Yeah," Dan continued, "the investigative police say he and a cryptic 'woman' rigged his heart attack just so he could skip the country and get away from being taken. Traise is saying Cordova belongs to a network of embezzlers. They were supposed to have been his conspirators in crime, part of Cordova's private syndicate. All this came out a few hours ago, although the law is saying they’ve been watching Cordova for months."

Cinnamon's eyes were wide and angry, “Miguel’s lived in the 12th District for most of his life. He's been nothing more than a loyal citizen and brave countryman. A patriot!"                

"I can't believe it!" Rollin was furious, "Traise and his Commandant are lying. Can't anyone see that?" On the other hand, Rollin thought, acquaintances had seen Miguel (Rollin) drop just after he had been faced with threatening questions about Katherine Block (Cinnamon), the lovely American whom he'd been accused of keeping company with. It was all very convenient. "It's obvious they think Miguel was complicated in OUR scheme, but instead of making themselves look stupid with talk of a police station break in --- they've developed a trumped up charge." He glanced at Cinnamon then Dan. "Katherine Block is American. Couldn't this cause misunderstanding between Polaria and the United States?"

”It might," Dan agreed, "but Polaria is small. It can't afford enemies as big as the States. Only silent steam. There will be no accusations, Comrade."

Cinnamon touched her forehead as if she were developing a headache. "They're questioning Miguel on a subject he knows nothing about.”  Rollin's earlier statement was exactly what she was thinking on her bus ride. The 12th district police didn't want themselves to look like fools. She could feel private tears of grief pushing up and silently cursed her sensitivity. The woman looked at her two companions, an anxious sparkle in her eyes, "When was he arrested"

"Only an hour and a half after you started out. They picked him up at the gas station."

"Wait." Rollin frowned, "How are they going to explain why Cinnamon was let go? If she was with Cordova when he was attempting to 'escape', then she should be under suspicion as well. A policeman would have been waiting for Katherine Block when she arrived in Copalina."

Briggs sat in a chair beside him and stretched, "Now we're getting back to an American involvement. Undoubtedly the Commandant is telling the public about 'Anna Cro' - the European refugee."

"But Miguel wouldn't tell them about me." Cinnamon protested. "Under threats I'm sure he wouldn't breathe a word."

"And under torture?"

“Do you really think it could go THAT far?" Cinnamon understood her surprise to be uncharacteristic. She was wise enough to know what lengths dictators could and would go to when desiring information. "But they know about Katherine Block? Why would they believe Miguel when he calls me Anna?"

"They have no real reason to disbelieve him. No one says a European spy can’t imitate an American spy. They think you lied to them and she and Miguel are involved. Cinnamon, who knows what they're truly thinking. All they know is that you are not who you're pretending to be."

“And Miguel is part of a conspiracy to overthrow the Nationalist party." Rollin added. His tone was quiet, "The Liberty Party has succeeded on the part of fair elections, but I think we’ve destroyed Cordova while helping them."

Cinnamon looked thoughtful. "Dan," she began with abrupt determination, "we have to rescue him."

”No.” Briggs was quick with his objection. "Our part is done. If we were to attempt a rescue we'd be acting on our own. The Secretary was very explicit when handing out our orders. If anything goes wrong, we'll get no government help." Noting the surprise in her eyes, he finished, "And, I will not accept that responsibility."

"Dan!" she practically cried out, "a man's life is in danger. Why are you suddenly being a 'by the book' agent?"

“I’m sorry."

“But it's OUR fault that Miguel is in the situation'," she appealed. "A  victim of circumstance. His arrest was never in our plans."

"I understand that."

 Rollin gazed steadily at Dan's solemn expression. Briggs was his friend and he knew him well enough to understand he was hiding his true feelings. He had a conscience. Dan felt bad enough about Cordova's imprisonment and didn't want to anticipate one of his OWN team members in a similar position. While it was true that the IMF team had a good WORKING relationship, it was also true about a deeper camaraderie between business partners ... a friendship, that was more endearing than what could be assumed by the sometimes stiff actions displayed. Rollin considered all this before saying what, he knew, one member wanted to hear, "Dan we're both willing." His friendship with Briggs might be in jeopardy but Cinnamon was a different story.

The closeness they shared was intimate and a bit more hidden. Hand sincerely was unable to brush her feelings aside, as was expected by an authority figure.

Cinnamon looked over at Rollin and flashed him a quick, sweet smile. He at least, was with her on this one ... and she could feel a rush of adrenaline. "Dan, whether you agree or not, Rollin and I are going to make an effort at this. We would much rather do it with you than without." She took a deep, rather nervous breath. Cinnamon was not one to openly display her emotions or, for that matter, mutiny. But he had to understand. "Miguel is a dear man and I WILL not stand by and watch his life be torn apart!"

Unexpectedly, a smile upturned the corners of Briggs mouth, “This means a lot to you doesn’t it?” When she nodded, he looked at Rollin, "What can I say? I was never one to argue with a lady...”

Plans would have to be made.

                       *         *         *         *         *

Miguel Cordova was a puzzled man. He had close to a hundred questions burning in his fevered head, but none would be answered, not to his satisfaction. Traise, the Commandant and a few naive guards were working, alone, that much he was certain of. But why they were accusing him of treachery, Cordova didn't know. Miguel lay exhausted on the small, dirty cot provided for him in the dingy closet of a cell.

He thought again and again of the events that lead up to his imprisonment and radical questioning.

He had said good-bye to Anna, then waited, listening to his car radio for more election coverage, as the station attendant worked on the inoperative engine. Then, before he realized what was happening, Captain Traise was standing beside him and had a weapon pointed at his blond head. Through the open car window he saw three other officers rushing his way. And the poor man working on his car never had a chance to look up. A policeman (or what looked like a policeman) clubbed him viscously on the back of the neck, and watched as the dark figure dropped to the ground. What had been done to the serviceman's wife? Miguel didn't know. He didn't want to know. This was no ordinary police action…

"Where is she?” Traise demanded, "And where are our other friends?"

“Captain, I don’t understand.” Cordova lied, but only partially. Traise was obviously speaking of Anna but who else was supposed to be with them?

Then Miguel had been dragged to this despicable place, just outside of the l4th District, and interrogated. Somehow, the Commandant had gotten the impression that he, simple Miguel Cordova, was responsible for the Liberty Party victory! Whatsmore, every single guard he’d talked with was certain it was done by unfair means. Cordova repeatedly protested, explaining that he was unable to vote. He'd been occupied all-day and missed the voting time.

Miguel had been forced by threats to his late wife's family, to admit he helped Anna get out of the country, but this caused only further confusion on Captain Traise's part, "Are you trying to tell me that Katherine Block is actually Polarian not an American?" he asked.

"American?" Miguel blinked, "Who is this Katherine Block? ANNA isn't American ... but I'm not certain she's Polarian..." After this, Cordova shut his mouth and refused to say another word. Obviously Traise was using some sort of psychology on him, but it wouldn't work.

The Captain continually shouted inane words and sentences. First, he mentioned something about Miguel’s weak heart ('But I have a strong heart in the best of health!') and a 'doctor visit'. Then, he babbled again about a female American.

"If Katherine Block IS Anna Cro, as you say, why didn't you leave WITH the woman? Where are the men in the ambulance? Why didn't you leave the country with them? How much were you paid to fix this election? Where is Anna Cro going --- back to Europe? Were you to meet her later?"

Question after stupid question.

How far would the Nationalists go in order to win an election? Yes, this was important to them, but why should they subject innocent people to ....? AND, why was HE the object of their revenge? Nothing could be done now. The date was ('had to be') December third. More than twenty-four hours after the vote count. No one could change that… WHY all these accusations?

                            *         *         *         *          *

“Carter, being sentimental is going to get you killed." Cinnamon spoke quietly to herself. She was standing in front of a bookstore, now closed, wearing the drab clothes she had worn while being pathetic Anna. This time distraction had nothing to do with fashion, she thought and nearly smiled.

Peering inside, she noted not a thing was moved. Even Miguel's antique brass and wood Grandfather’s clock had wound down. The lovely agent had hoped to find some sort of policeman or military figure on the inside.  She could make herself so subtly obvious; they would have no choice but to arrest her on suspicion.

When the opportunity came, it was so perfect and unexpected Cinnamon began to wonder if it weren't staged. The Commandant was standing out in front of the police station, just across from Cordova's store, and was speaking with a suited soldier. They were talking calmly, then his eyes locked onto the woman's. She stood rigid for a moment, unable to believe her 'luck' but, at the same time, dreading what was to follow. Suddenly, in panic, Anna Cro ran down the sidewalk past a crowd of gossiping women, and a group of boys who were pitching change against the side of a building.

"Get her!" She heard the Commandant shout at the man beside him.

Cinnamon could feel hot tears of stress and anticipation course down her cheeks. She knew what would have to happen -- it was planned. Nevertheless she felt unquestionable fear. If she didn't, she decided she wouldn't be human. An ankle turned out from under her and the young female fell heavily on the sidewalk. A terror filled agonized cry escaped her lips. She was overwhelmed.

Rollin and Dan were watching the action from a window in a small motel. They had a perfect view and Briggs was a bit uncomfortable when seeing Cinnamon fall.

"Don't worry, Dan," Rollin assured, "she's an excellent actress." 

“I don't know ...”

“Well, I know her well enough to tell when she's performing and being real.”

Dan turned with a half smile and asked, "And why are you different from any other man who has known Cinnamon Carter?"

Rollin looked stuck for a moment. His emphasis on 'I' had given him away. For a brief moment anxiety pushed up on the handsome spy. "I didn't mean to suggest that I was different," Hand said quickly, almost defensively. "I just ... I'm an actor. I know these things. That's all.”

Briggs felt an overwhelming urge to tease his partner further but decided it wasn't best to dwell on the subject. Cinnamon had a unique charm that could captivate any man. Why should their master of disguise be an exception?

The men watched as the shabbily dressed but pretty blond was escorted, rather roughly, inside the l2th District police station.

There was no question as to where she would be taken next.

                 *         *          *         *         *          *

"We have a visitor to see you, Cordova." Traise called to Miguel through a boxed open port in his cell's wooden door.

He sat up on the cot and breathed heavily out. They were tormenting him again. "And who could you possibly have to see me today?" he asked with tired sarcasm, "perhaps my good friend, the President?"

Traise's dark face lit with an artificial smile, "I'm so sorry.  The President has another engagement for this evening or I’m certain he would want to be here to witness your confession. After all, you are part of the cause which has drummed him out of office."

“WHAT confession?" Miguel shouted, "I have told you all I know."

“Which you claim is nothing!" Traise’s voice reached up to the same pitch as Cordova's. Expression now grim, the Captain reached for the keys at the side of his belt. They dangled on a small hook. "In spite of what you might think - PEASANT - we are not fools! I have no more time for tedious lies. Perhaps you do not wish to return home, but I do. I have a family and have been missed while out on assignment.”

The cell door abruptly swung open, revealing Traise's entire form. For a moment, Miguel thought he was to be beaten, but then the captain reached for a person who was hidden behind the bulk of a burly guard. She was not so gently pulled into view.

“Anna!”           

“Oh, Miguel!" Unwrapping herself from the security man's grip, Cinnamon ran and embraced Cordova. She threw her arms around him in partially acted passion and genuine relief. "Thank God! I thought they'd killed you, Darling.” Cordova was stunned to discover his lovely, reserved Anna hugging and kissing him with the insistence of a long separated lover. For a moment, he considered the possibility that the Captain had arranged a substitute, but soon understood when she whispered urgently close to his ear: "Miguel, please follow this through. I have friends that will help us.” Then, louder: "I had to return when I learned of your arrest."

"Oh Anna! MY Anna," he spoke tenderly, stroking her hair. "How I've missed you'."

Traise had seen and heard enough. Slowly, with a smile of reaffirmation, he closed the door and walked to his office. He would let the lovers be alone for awhile. Later, their closeness would serve him well. Meanwhile, he would have to call the Commandant and tell all.

Cinnamon placed a finger to her lips as an indicator. When the door lock clicked behind them she urgently drew her mouth up close to his ear again. "Do you know if there is an electronic listening device in here?"

"No, there isn't," he spoke quietly and directed her over to his cot so they both might sit down. "I checked the place out thoroughly when I first arrived. Apparently, Traise didn't think it necessary for his plans.” His expression softened, "Anna, why have you done this?  Do you not realize the danger you've put yourself in?"

She couldn't tell him yet that Anna Cro didn't exist - only a clever spy. His trust meant everything to their rescue and she would jeopardize their chances by informing him of her lies. "Miguel you'll have to believe in my judgment." She raised a hand and touched his fair cheek, “Did you know the law has announced you've been arrested for embezzlement?”

He sighed, "I was wondering how my absence would be explained. The Commandant and some of his soldiers are acting on their own. This isn't law enforced confinement, but an excuse for revenge. I don't know why but they think I helped in their loss of the election.  Traise hopes to grill me and find information to confirm his and others' feelings. Then, they will bring that incriminating 'proof' to the eyes of our new Liberty Party President, and he will be impeached. At least this is their plan as of now. No one knows what else is on their minds. But, as it stands, I tend to think politics is now secondary in their eyes."

Cinnamon's brow furrowed, "What do you mean?"

“As I stated, Traise and the Commandant are acting on their own. I believe their prime concern is to inflict as much pain and cause as much grief for me as possible. I guess they want to do this until they are out of office. Right now they have military backing if they are caught. Later, if they are still hiding me and are caught, they face probable execution."

"But that's insane." Cinnamon touched his hands and looked deeply into Miguel’s moist blue eyes.

"Anna, the entire Nationalist Party is insane. Some have just learned to control it better than others." He gave an ironic laugh, " Not one of Adolph Hitler's associates thought him insane ... until his deeds were later analyzed, by his own people."

On impulse, Cinnamon slipped her arms around his neck and hugged him gently. He seemed much older, and tired. "Believe me Miguel, we'll be out of here soon."

**********

Later in the evening, after supper, the temperature dropped considerably. The walls of the small room Miss Carter and Cordova were being held in slowly covered with ice. Breathing sent cool smoke from their mouths and they were forced to cling together to keep warm, not that it bothered Miguel.

"Now, this is more like December," Cinnamon mumbled to herself. ‘Yes, I'm going to spend Christmas in a refrigerator.' she thought. Lying in the comfortable warmth of his lax arms, she wondered privately why Polaria was always so warm in the day -- but the nights sometimes, could go below zero. 'I don't know whether I'm in the tropics or Alaska!'. Cinnamon halted her train of thought when she heard a loud clicking sound. 'Probably only the building settling in its' foundation.' Cinnamon smiled. How many times when a child had her mother use that calming line, 'Remember Cinnamon, a house must sleep just like you and I ...."? What would Mom think of her now? Not only wasn't she afraid of the dark anymore but was involved with highly secret, dangerous government work! Still, as a human being, she could be affected…

In his sleep, Miguel gave a low moan. Only a couple hours after she first arrived, Cordova had been marched from the room and mercilessly thrashed with a long, thin biting whip. Cinnamon quietly examined his injuries and was grateful to see the marks not as terrible as the blood might suggest. But she could feel suppressed tears sting her eyes as he relayed what was told to him (and later he felt terrible about telling her); that she would be next if Cordova did not cooperate.

He should never have been put through this torture. Had she known this would happen to Miguel, IMF action would have taken place sooner.  If Rollin were with her, he would be telling Cinnamon to quit blaming herself. He'd explain, in that clever, sweetly roguish way of his, that none of this could be helped.

But Rollin WASN’T here, as much as she wished it was he holding her right now. He was with Dan and they were implementing their own part of a rescue plot. 'Rollin,' she thought, ‘he'll be here soon.’ This thought melted her trepidation and she could fall asleep beside Miguel.  She could forget for a time about the painful welts on his back and chest.... and the certain misery she would be facing.

                 *          *         *         *         *          *

A few miles away, on a bluff overlooking the second rate prison area, Hand and Briggs sat in an old, gray truck. It had been 'borrowed' from a farmer as he worked in a field. They were watching and following Cinnamon Carter, and had been since her capture. They'd kept an eye on destinations and were waiting for the perfect moment before attempting intervention. She and Cordova were now locked in that flea ridden building....

"I hate waiting," Rollin said, blowing irritably at the smoke from his cigarette. "This is too risky. Why did we have to do it this way?”

"You know why, Rollin. It's important for Cordova to be ready for us. Cinnamon must explain to him what's to happen so he won't resist us when we reach him."

"But it's dangerous. Whatever happened to the days of long planned, well executed escapes?"

"Those days will come again.” In the dim moonlight, Dan took a moment to examine Rollin's profile. If the chief didn't know better, he would swear there was more to that expression than concern over a fellow agent or even an inner fear of failure. Briggs glanced at his watch, "We're going to be here until morning. Why don't you get some sleep? You're going to have to be alert when it comes time for your performance. There's nothing more dangerous than an unconvincing actor," Dan smiled.

"Fine." Rollin stretched out a little in the passenger seat and closed his eyes.

                   *         *         *          *         *         *         

There it was again -- 'click'.

Cinnamon opened her eyes and lifted her head from his arm. Miguel stirred slightly but remained deeply asleep. It was still dark and the low temperature persisted. She shivered and lay back down next to her human blanket. A few times he had awaken from nightmares but, generally speaking, Cordova's slumber was restful.

‘Click.’

It was even louder now.

She overheard laughter in the distance. Perhaps the men guarding their cell were playing a card game?

'Click' - 'Click'. The noise was echoing through the outside hall, as was the shuffling of feet. The laughter was muffled, but close.

An inexplicable fear crept up on the woman. Cinnamon slid cautiously off the small bed, rubbing her slim hands up and down her arms to maintain what warmth was left within her. Standing, Cinnamon walked towards the cell door and went suddenly stiff. She heard breathing and saw the latch to their door move.

Faster than she had time to react, the door was thrust open. Water from a hose was turned on to full force. The pressure was so great that three guards had to hold the hose while a forth controlled the hose spool and water valve. Cinnamon never had a chance to regain her footing. The freezing torrent crashed into her and she was thrown to the room's back wall. For an instant she thought: ‘This is what it's like to drown.’ Her lungs ached for air.

"You need a bath, PEASANT!" One of the drunken officers roared.

The others followed through, screeching: "Bath! Bath! Bath!"

The chant was what jolted Miguel awake. He ran to Anna and tried in vain to catch the flow with his own body. After a few exhausting minutes, the men shut the water off and slammed the wooden door shut behind themselves. Cordova could hear vulgar laughter as they returned to work stations. Their bottles were empty and the fun was over.

"ANNA!" She was unconscious, lying in a chilled puddle of water. Gently though painfully he lifted her up and placed the woman on the grimy mattress. “Wake UP, Anna!” He patted her hands and worked desperately to warm his ally. The blond man found his filthy but dry white coat lying crumpled beside a bucket. Gingerly, he placed it on top of her.

Cinnamon was shivering, the frosted air getting the best from her, pushing the warmth from her body.

"Anna, for God’s sake, make an effort! Wake Up!" Miguel pleaded. Tears began to well within his eyes as he noted the thin layer of frost caking her drenched hair.

Unexpectedly, her eyes half opened and breathing began to deepen. Then she started to cough. "Miguel." Cinnamon cried and sat up stiffly, taking in deep breaths. The young woman continued to hack irregularly.

Cordova gently rubbed her back in a circular motion and murmured softly, close to her ear. The words were quiet, almost incomprehensible, but satisfying.

"It knocked the air out of ... me," she gasped, and for a moment, wasn't certain if she was speaking Polarian. "I'll ... be all right."

"Anna, you shouldn't have come here, he whispered, his face now positioned very close to hers. Cinnamon knew she ought to be pulling back from the suggestion of his nearness. The movement would have been a small but complete way of obliterating the tightness suddenly gripping her throat. But her body was unable to follow the demands of her conscience. She and Miguel were here alone in this small, dark hellhole ... and she NEEDED someone to be close to.

The man sitting beside her was full of care and gentleness. Her well being meant something to him...  Unexpectedly, and with the shyness of an inexperienced pre-teen, Miguel placed his lips on hers and they shared a very personal moment.

Cinnamon placed her hands on the back of his neck, absorbing the strength of his kiss. How odd, she thought, to be so frightened one moment and so aroused the next ....

Even after the moment ended, her eyes remained closed and she rested her body against his. The only utterances that would break the silence were suddenly spoken by Miguel. “Anna, I'm falling in love with you."

Cinnamon's eyes opened wide and her mouth dropped open with shocked surprise. ‘Why I am so surprised?' she wondered, 'There was always this possibility ...' Part of her special training as an IMF agent was in the use of natural charm and glamour. In this way Cinnamon was able to seduce willing (and NOT so willing) males. But, NOT this man. He meant too much to her. "Miguel..." She would not have him end up as just another assignment. "Try to understand..." But how could she NOT hurt him? "I'm VERY fond of you. But..."

"If your friends ever get us out of here, I know I can make you happy. I honestly don't have much, that's true, but I'm far from a poor man," he whispered pressingly.

They were still sitting close to each other. "Oh Miguel, I know you would try to make me happy."

"Anna, say you'll marry me."

"No Miguel, I can't." She noticed a scratch on his neck where he'd been whipped earlier. She traced a gentle finger over it, "You just don't understand what I am."

For a moment Cordova thought he knew what she was speaking of. "I don't care about what might have happened in your past." He urged, "Even if you're not sure you can love me now, you'll learn to ...” Anna was beautiful woman. How many men had she known in the past? With her face and figure, it wouldn't be difficult to sell herself for a hot meal or two. He'd known some half starved East Europeans that would do far more for a small crust of bread. But that loss of innocence didn't matter now. Nor would it matter in their future.

Cinnamon couldn't prevent the little half smile that played along her lips. His respect for her was earnest, but he reminded her of a little boy, bartering in a game of chance. "Miguel," she said, "trust me. I DO care for you but could never live my life in Polaria."

His eyes clouded and he looked down at his hands. "Is there another man?"

Now, she dropped her head a bit, "Partly. But really, it's my work. I meant to tell you this before…” 

"Work?" Cordova was perplexed.

There would be no tactful way of explaining it now. Guardedly, she told him of the IMF plot which was hatched only a couple nights before. She was careful, however, not to disclose TOO much information.

Dan and the Secretary would never stand for that. Cinnamon told him of Nationalists cheating, the fixed machines, her role as Katherine Block and HIS double, Rollin Hand. Cinnamon left out intimate details of any sort of a relationship between herself and Rollin, but DID go on to explain that she was American and her assignment, as of now, was to rescue him from these terrorist monsters.

Miguel looked hurt but not bitter. "Why would your government care about what happens to me?” he asked, "I'm a nobody."

She placed a hand under his chin and raised the head so she could look into his eyes, "You're a very special 'nobody' to me." She dropped the accent and smiled sweetly at him, "This was done by choice. MY choice and with the help of a couple dear friends. We want to get you out of the country."

"But my home is in Polaria."

Cinnamon was forced to be blunt, "Miguel you don't have a home here anymore. Even if we get out of here, you'll be a wanted man. 'Tax Evasion', remember? 'Embezzlement'?"

"But none of that is true."

"The Commandant will MAKE it true. If he has to go down in four weeks, he'll want you to go with him. If he doesn't succeed in murdering you, he'll forge papers ... and if he doesn't manage in that, there will always be some sort of threat directed your way. You'll never be respected as the man you really are. Do you understand?"

Miguel looked down at his palms. "A man without a country," he said, "I have no where to go."

Cinnamon put her hands on his shoulders. "Yes you do," she said slowly, "the United States."

                  *          *         *         *          *         *

"I am Evan Cordova," Rollin said. "I've come to see my brother."

Traise sat stiffly in his chair and thumped the top of his desk with the tip of a ballpoint pen. "According to Miguel Cordova's file, he has no immediate family.” Evan appeared ruddier, with a bit more polish than Miguel, but the resemblance to his kin was evident.

"How did you know he was here?"

Rollin smiled as he relaxed in the chair. He ran a contemplative finger across one of his long sideburns and raised a blond eyebrow.

"In answer to your first question, Miguel was involved with the civil war a few years back. He was captured by your party and threatened many times with the lives of his family. He told the sergeant in charge of his callback he had no family, and that was the way it went down in the file. He maintained the charade for obvious political reasons."

"And how did you know he was HERE?"

The answer was prompt, "I came to see Miguel for Christmas. When I discovered the bookstore dark and his home boarded up, I questioned the police department."

'But the 12th District police don't know where we have him.' Traise distrustfully thought, but said nothing. "And you wish to see him?”

"Of course." Hand glanced at his reflection in a mirror hanging just opposite him. The disguise was very effective.

The Captain paused as if he might be considering an important piece of information. Then, he sighed and allowed a labored sigh as a smile came to his features. “Miguel has been a model prisoner." Traise said in an alarming calm. He was being too good-natured. The Captain stood to his feet and escorted Rollin out the door to a barred entrance.

"This is where the cell block begins, so please forgive me. I must search you for weapons or escape devices."

"As you wish." Rollin lifted his arms as Traise did a quick and complete pocket check.

"Thank you.” He unlocked the door and smiled again, "Usually this wouldn’t be allowed, but I've become so fond of Miguel ... and I find it hard to believe he's done all that's been charged."

While walking, Rollin questioned, "It's very quiet in here. Have you no other prisoners?"

"Of course,” Traise exclaimed, a bit quickly. "However, most have been transferred to the 20th District Penitentiary. More room there you understand."

"Yes, I understand."

When they reached the cell door, Traise smiled in acted sympathy.

"Miguel will certainly be glad to see you. He's been very lonely."

‘This guy's as good as Lawrence Olivier,’ Rollin thought acidly.

When the door finally opened, the agent saw Miguel standing next to a barred window, looking at an unappealing view. He turned quickly to see who was invading his privacy. Had Anna returned? But he looked not at all shocked when Rollin stepped into sight -- a handsome but flawed resemblance. Miguel smiled and threw his hands up, "Evan!"

Hand grinned in relief. Cinnamon had come through again! The two men embraced for a moment then Rollin asked, "Have they harmed you?"         

Captain Traise closed the door and walked to the nearest telephone. The Commandant would have to be interrupted again.

Then they were unquestionably alone, Rollin asked, "Where is she?"

"Anna?" Miguel decided there was a little too much concern in that expression but only answered his questioned, "I’m not sure. They separated us early this morning. She may be in the middle of interrogation or...”

'Torture.' Rollin mentally finished for the man in front of him. "Did she tell you what is to happen?"

"She said some friends of hers would try to rescue us and one would be posing as my brother, Evan. But that is all."

Rollin peeled off his mustache and beard, then placed them in Miguel's hand. Silently, he then walked over to his bed as the IMF agent reached into a hidden coat pocket. When they sat down, Rollin tore at coat seam and out popped a small packet of facial glue and a small shred of imitation flesh. "I'm going to make you up so you'll look just as I did when I first arrived. Then, I'm going to take your place."

“But you'll be killed!" Cordova interjected.

"No I won't. Cinnamon ... Anna and I will be out of here before it ever gets that far." Privately, he again wondered what was being done to the IMF's most disarming female spy. "You will have to sound like me. Imitate my voice."

Miguel tried and did a passing job. "You have a very interesting accent, Mr. Hand. It is Rollin Hand, isn't it?"

“Yes,” the agent nodded. "Okay, now I want you tell me everything that's happened to you since the day you were brought here. Leave out nothing."

Miguel talked as Rollin prepared his make up. The easy part was in creating wounds like that on Miguel's body, but the hard part was  hiding the damage done to Cordova himself. Rollin decided to work on Cordova first, then his own make up. He hoped there was enough time to make it convincing.

                  *          *        *          *         * 

"You are a foolish woman," the young guard pressed as he watched Cinnamon sweat under smoking hot lights. She sat, staring straight ahead. "If I were to draw my pistol, aim at your head, and fire, no one would care. Well yes, perhaps your lover, Cordova. He might feel a twinge of hurt - but that's all..." Sadistically he took a tin cup and filled it with fresh water, from a barrel at his side. The guard swept it in front of her face. "You can have some of this. Just answer a few simple questions."

"No thank you,” Cinnamon said, with a dry quiver to her parched throat. "I had quite enough water this morning when your men gave me an unscheduled shower." Though weakening, her back was erect and head held high.

The interrogator was obviously inexperienced. His next move was not only uncalled for but stupid. Out of anger, he thrust what water was left in his cup at her face. It cooled the woman considerably. "I heard what those imbeciles did this morning and they were punished. They drank on post.” He suddenly became furious with himself. Why was he telling this woman his troubles? Anna Cro was only a piece of fluff, a prisoner. A mere woman who deserved no explanation. One of his fingers curled around a strand of her blond hair. "Remember my name, woman. It's Baca." He smiled and pulled, "I have no desire to see you die. You're attractive and I can think of many other things I would rather do with you. However ... if I receive NO answers the next time you're brought before me, the pain will be excruciating."

Cinnamon's long, cool stare only heightened his rage. "Take this pig back to her cell," he shouted to two henchmen.

The guards took an arm a piece and were surprisingly gentle with the captive woman. Cinnamon could have sworn there was a trace of honest regret in both sets of eyes. These men were older and wiser, she supposed. Maybe one had a daughter close to her own age? Perhaps they participated in this atrocity only because it was required? She tested them, "He doesn't frighten me," Cinnamon said in childish defiance as they walked.

The oldest of the guards appeared close to sixty years old. He blinked hard at her words and pressed a bit more firmly at the young woman's upper arm. It took her a few seconds to realize the pressure was out of compassion, not anger.

Like his partner, the other man said nothing but would not look at her, only at the floor. They continued to walk.

Cinnamon had a strange feeling. 'Later, these men might be of great help,' she thought.

       *          *         *         *         *          *         *

In his office at the 12th District police station, the Commandant's facial expression was passive. He sat at his desk, riffling through paper work as the telephone receiver cupped itself between his ear and shoulder. “So you think Evan Cordova a spy, like his brother?" he asked seemingly without interest.

"Yes.” Captain Traise, on the other end drummed his brown fingers nervously against the desktop. It was fine for the Commandant not to feel pressure; he was miles away from the point of trouble.

"Evan Cordova said he was able to locate Miguel by speaking with someone at the station. We both know this is impossible," he began to breath a little irregularly. Traise wasn't usually so apprehensive but matters were obviously taking a turn for the worse. "Should I arrest him?"

"On WHAT charge, Traise?" The Commandant sighed, "No, I'll have the man followed then have my informant report back to you. We must take this slowly. Any negative action on our part could promote good will towards our rivals. We don't need that."

 "Yes, Commandant."

                  *          *         *         *         *          *

"Guard!" Miguel now dressed as Rollin had been calling out. "I'm ready to leave." He glanced back at Hand. It was impossible to believe two people could look so much alike, and come from completely different parts of the world. The agent was now dressed in his dirty clothes. With the blond hairpiece, Miguel thought he could be looking into a mirror when staring at Rollin. Only now, Cordova wore a fake beard and hair below his nose.

Rollin sat on the cot and smiled assurance at the uncertain Polarian.

"Good luck," Miguel whispered.

"To you," Rollin nodded and leaned back as the door opened.

Miguel was escorted to the front barred entrance, then left on his own to find a way out. When first brought to the prison Cordova had been blindfolded so he couldn't be absolutely positive when walking in the direction he thought suitable.

"Mr. Cordova!" Traise had seen him walking by his office. He now poked his head out and called to the man.

Miguel turned to look at him.

"Your brother is doing well? Hmmm?"

"As well as can be expected." Cordova relaxed, "He has a few complaints."

"That is understandable." Traise met his eyes. "Will you be returning ... to visit Miguel again?"

"Possibly."

A false smile traced the Captain's dark lips, "Goodbye, Mr. Cordova."                  

Miguel nodded and spotted a door with an EXIT label above it.

With an inward sigh of deliverance, he walked into the bright sunshine.

‘It's noon’, he thought, 'I became a free man at noon.' Cordova felt both trepidation and immense satisfaction while walking up the footpath. It would lead him to ('What's his name? Mr. Briggs?') an old gray truck.

Miguel thought again of Anna and the mysterious Mr. Hand. He felt concerned for their safety. In spite of all Rollin said, Cordova felt he had deserted the Americans.

                  *         *          *         *         *         *

"Did they harm you?"

Rollin and Cinnamon were being watched by the two men who had brought her back to the cell. They gazed in fatherly compassion as she melted into his awaiting embrace The senior guard thought the hug more like that of a greeting between a LONG parted couple. But he understood.

The girl's ordeal had been a trying one.

"No, it wasn't too bad." She looked into his eyes and knew at once the transfer had been accomplished. Only contact lenses could hide Rollin's brilliant blue irises.

Quietly, the door shut beside them and the men let the prisoners alone. Rollin ran careful fingers through her damp, disarrayed hair, then smiled.

"I know I must look a mess,” Cinnamon said, self-consciously. Her tone was barely above a whisper. Looking at him, she couldn't remember a time she'd felt safer -- glamour or not.

"No. You look just fine." It was only a half lie, Rollin decided. To him, she would look beautiful after being trampled by a herd of wild elephants. But the eyes ... they had lost certain softness. 'She's seen too much pain, heard too many threats,' he mused.

Parting from him, Cinnamon walked wordlessly over to a small tub containing fresh water. She splashed a little onto her face. The questioning under hot lights had left her slightly dehydrated. She felt a little silly when discovering her muscles a bit tense. That surge of deep hidden claustrophobia was beginning to swell up, but it would never get to the surface. Cinnamon wouldn't let it.

                  *         *          *         *         *         *

Standing next to his truck on the bluff, Dan watched Cordova.

He was stiffly walking the path up the hill to the IMF agent, when suddenly he stopped and sat slowly down. Sweat streamed down Miguel's forehead and his face appeared tight with pain. Dan trotted down the hill to reach the Polarian and grasped his shoulder. "What's wrong?" he asked, with concern.

The sun was to Dan's back so Miguel had to squint when looking up at him. "Mr. Briggs?" At a nod, Cordova smiled and got to his feet.

"You'll have to forgive me. Last night I was whipped ... and I suppose the long walk did me no good."

"I see." Dan allowed a common half smile and patted the tired man softly on the back. "You can take the false beard and sideburns off now. They aren't needed anymore." Without ceremony, Briggs helped pull the make up off of Rollin's double. "I'm going to take you over to the truck. There is something there I want to show you." He led the way as Miguel followed. There was something vaguely familiar about this American. Cordova was certain of it. He had met him somewhere before. But, that was impossible! Miguel had met very few Americans in his lifetime, though he had been taught the English language at a very early age.

Still ...

When the men had finally climbed the rest of the way up the hill and reached the vehicle, Dan thumbed Miguel’s attention to the bed of his truck. Inside was an odd sight. A short paunchy gentleman - extremely furious - was tied and gagged. He looked up at the men with visible loathing.

Cordova glanced back at Briggs then the man again. "I don't understand."

"He's been watching you ever since you stepped foot outside the prison. We practically bumped into each other. But he was too busy watching you through binoculars to notice me. That's when I got the jump on him. It seems that the Commandant got wise to the fact that Rollin is a spy. Of course, he thought of a Liberty spy. So, they had you followed, thinking you were your brother - Evan."

Miguel looked about the forest area surrounding them. "Do you suppose more men might...?"

"I doubt it." Briggs interrupted, "They don't want too many people involved with their scheme. But, from what I could get out of this guy, only the Commandant knows what he looks like." Dan smiled and looked carefully at Cordova’s confused expression, "Do you want to make a guess on who's going to make a report to Traise?"

Cordova glinted a smile of his own. "Good luck."

                   *         *         *          *         *         *

After they had finished their dinner of rice and fruit, the two IMF agents felt much better.

Sitting on the bed, Cinnamon watched his movements with the observance of a mesmerized tennis game attendee. She appeared relaxed on the outside, but on the inside she was privately praying for a lit cigarette. Rollin paced uneasily back and forth in the small cell, agitated by the lack of attention Traise directed at his most valuable captives.

"What's he trying to do, bore us to death?” Hand mumbled.

"Are all actors so impatient?" Cinnamon asked lowly, with a cool yet amused stare.

"I'm sorry." He half laughed and sat next to her, "This is no picnic for you, is it?'

"Hardly. But don't feel bad, Rollin. The only reason I'm not climbing the walls with you is because I passed that point when exhaustion and terror set in." She smiled but the weariness was still intact.

"I should have listened to my mother and became a doctor."

"We'll be out soon." Rollin assured with little enthusiasm.

Timidly he placed his hands on hers, "Tell me about her ... your mother. I want to know about you and your family. What is Cinnamon Carter's background?"      

She laughed, “THAT would bore you silly."

"Oh, I doubt it."

"Okay." She spoke with reluctance, "I was born in Casper, Wyoming, the third daughter of five. My father died soon after I was born and my mother remarried. My stepfather, Ted, was a nice man. You know, capable and dependable -- but I could never accept him, and he knew it. All the rest adored him, but I was the outsider. HIS two children Lisa and Betty, by mother, always resented me because of my feelings." She shook herself. "But mother was different. She could always read me - no matter HOW hard I tried to hide. And she was never spiteful. I loved my mother and probably felt more pain than any of the others when she finally passed away. That happened when I turned twenty-five. I was right in the middle of a modeling assignment in New York when I got the call." Cinnamon took a slight gulp of air, "But even then I refused to show any outer emotion. Everyone probably thought me the coldest bitch ever to roam the Earth but - for some reason - I was incapable of crying."

Rollin stared at her, admiring her will and strength yet also feeling pity. She made a great spy because she could keep her emotions at bay. That was both good and bad.

"You know, I haven't seen any of my sisters or stepfather since the day of the funeral. We've written letters, but I've never had an open invitation to come visit. I think everyone feels safe this way. I do."

Hand wanted to change the mood but didn't quite know how to go about it. “Your mother sounds like she was a wonderful woman. I wish I had known her.  My parents were both actors and never had enough time to look after their kids. We had a live in baby-sitter who acted as both parents. Diane was a gem. She acted as my unofficial promoter when I first broke into show business.”

“How odd."

"What?"

"That you decided to become an actor even after your parents, as performers, ignored you."

"I guess I wanted to prove a man could be a loyal husband, loving father and a fine actor, all at once. I was engaged to be married when I turned twenty-one, but the girl changed her mind at the last minute. She didn't want to be known as 'Rollin Hand's wife' - should I hit it big. I can't say I blamed her, but my ego was shot for years. I might have turned into a basket case if Diane hadn't been around to pick up the pieces and tell me I wasn't useless. It was her idea that I should join in government work. I hadn't even considered it until she brought

the brochures and encouraged me." He looked down at her interested expression, "What about you? Why did you become and agent?"

“I was making a mint a week, but wasn't happy as a model. It's that old story of wanting something more exciting. The only things you need to be a model are long legs, slim neck, and high cheekbones. I knew I was capable of more."

"So here we are." Rollin laughed, ironically. He glanced around the dull, dusty cell. "Two brilliant, highly trained government agents --bored to tears."

He had made her laugh. Cinnamon was giggling like she never had in the past and it made Rollin's being swell with qualified pride.

She was so radiant during moments like this! The softness that had been missing in her green eyes earlier was now back.       

In turn, Cinnamon noticed how Rollin had become even more handsome. His grin was bright and radiated warmth she'd never seen before. The make up he wore couldn't hide the fact he was sincerely enjoying this brief moment together.

The couple stared at one another, the smiles now faded as the reality of their predicament dawned. It wouldn't due to become close now. They still had a mission to finish, and if things didn't go as planned, they might not live to continue an on going relationship.

"Did Dan ever tell you how we're supposed to swing this plot?"

Cinnamon spoke with just the right amount of artlessness. The disposition of the earlier moment had been dispensed with the effectiveness of the smoothest diplomat.

It was highly unprofessional, but Cinnamon was left out in the cold before ALL the facts were gathered on her end of this mission. They hadn't meant to keep it a secret, but only one night was available to prepare the trio's plan. The necessary adjustments and details unfortunately were not complete before she had to make her appearance in front of the bookstore. Miss Carter could only hope and pray Dan and Rollin would pull threads then sew matters up before her situation became too dangerous.

Rollin looked at her for awhile but said nothing. That did little to encourage her spirits. Hands still placed on hers, he squeezed the woman's fingers, gently.

They heard the door latch click open.

"I trust you are both very comfortable." The statement came from Cinnamon's interrogator, Baca. He stood in the doorway. Leaning comfortably against its frame. "I need to speak with you again, Miss Cro," he was visibly pleased when he saw her back straighten. “I've been given permission to intensify your questioning." His smile was evil.. The young officer gazed at her with an open look of desire.

There was no doubt in Rollin's mind. He knew what would happen to her next.

"Of course, all this would be so unnecessary, if you would only tell us what we want to know. He saw nothing but controlled fear in those large, wide set eyes. For him, it seemed to heighten her attractiveness. The interrogator enjoyed seeing women suffer.

"You can't,” Rollin shouted. His tone was thick with threat as he stood and held the woman behind him. Hand not only felt horror and pain on Cinnamon's behalf, but also an overwhelming sense of possessiveness. If they were to harm her in the way expected, he knew she would never be able to look him straight in the face again. And, as much as he cared for her, Rollin couldn't be certain he would view her without a crushing urge to ply the woman with pity. Cinnamon would hate him for that.

Miss Carter could feel spasms of reality tingle throughout her entire body. She would be a fool for not expecting this possibility of ('Dare I think it?') rape - but until now, she had been successful in trying to block it from her mind.

"Come, Dear.” Baca said and moved forward. But, that fool Cordova was still standing in the way. "You had better retreat," the security man said, reaching for her around his side. Rollin didn't take a step in either direction. "Did you think your beating last night bad? I promise, if you interfere further ... you will surely suffer for THIS evening." He paused and looked at the glassy eyed woman behind the Polarian, "And, so shall she.”

This caused a momentary collapse in Hand's stiff expression. Then, he grew taut again as an idea sprang into his head. "If you give me your word that you'll leave her be, I'll tell you everything I know."

"Miguel, no!” Cinnamon squealed in protest. The trepidation buried deep within her suddenly leaped to the surface in a wild tide of emotion. What was he going to get himself into?

"It's all right." Rollin turned around and held her at arms length, "It’s the best way. Trust me."

Hadn't she asked the same from the real Miguel? Cinnamon was now unable to conquer an overwhelming urge. In an abandonment of feeling, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed Rollin passionately on the lips. It was as much a surprise to her as to him. The action was unnecessary, unprovoked and unwise ... but Rollin found himself responding with unsurpassed eagerness.

The couple had to practically be torn apart by the interrogator and another soldier who had appeared - seemingly - from no where.

"Take him to see Traise," Baca ordered the sergeant holding Rollin. "I'll join you soon." The interrogator was gripping Cinnamon's arms and wasn't unaware of the soft, feminine flesh beneath his hands.

Rollin noted Baca's badly disguised gawk of lust and had to quell a feeling that ordered him to strike out. Miss Carter was afraid, though she wouldn't show it. It was obvious that Baca's word wouldn't be enough. Hand was roughly moved from the room, but not before he shouted, "I want her with me."

Baca was angry, "No!"

"Yes! I won't say a word unless she is with me." An irritated sigh escaped the lieutenant, but he relented, "Very well."

                   *         *          *         *         *          *        

"All right. Mr. Cordova. You may begin the confession." Traise sat the small tape recorder in front of Rollin, and looked smugly at his victim.

Admiring his own strategy, the Captain mentally patted himself on the back. Locking Cordova and the woman in a cell had been a stroke of genius. How else could they realize the futility of their situation? Anyone less competent would have imprisoned the peasants separately, in hope that longing would drive them to distraction. But, HIS way was much quicker and less complicated. Mere research pointed to Miguel's faults, mainly being a TOO sensitive man where others were concerned. This feeling was especially acute with his own woman in the picture. No Polarian gentleman with such high standards and moral conviction in his background could just sit and watch the woman he loves become the subject of degrading sin. Traise was only angry that he hadn't thought of this angle when Anna Cro first arrived. Whether it meant betraying his country or not, Cordova would have to relent. Traise had counted on this, and it was obviously paying off.

The Captain glanced at Baca, standing next to Cinnamon. The Nationalist President would learn of his performance during an emergency and probably reward the lieutenant handsomely. Traise didn't think that fair. The interrogator Was a torture happy fool, who wanted Cordova murdered before anything useful could be done with the man. But Baca would learn. Traise had his sights set on a higher position. When he became the new Commandant of the 12th District, the young fool would be taught a sense of logic and flair when dealing with prisoners.

Impatient, Baca barked, "We are waiting, Cordova. Tell us of the Libertance. What method was used to bring your people to power? What might have happened if you had lost...? A revolt?"

Rollin said nothing for a count of thirty. He glanced at Cinnamon as worry clearly registered on her face. He had nothing to tell there. While walking to the office, Rollin thought over a few convincing lies, but none that would satisfy Captain Traise's vivid imagination. Rollin hated the blankness fusing inside and could only clearly conceive Cinnamon's fate. He had bought her a few extra hours, perhaps, but in the end the interrogator would be granted his wish.

The Captain stared gravely at the blond Polarian. Why was he hesitating?

Without warning, the door to Traise's office was flung open and the stocky, good looking form of Daniel Briggs stood at the doorframe. He pulled a yellow and green badge from his pocket and grazed it past the Captain’s eyes. "I am Ivan Tolsovich," he announced with a thick accent. Dan looked briefly at Cinnamon and Rollin and was privately pleased to see them together, unhurt. "I have orders to take these outlaws to the l2th District police station."

"What?" Traise looked appalled. "By whose orders?”

“The Commandant of District twelve. There has been an unforeseen turn of events. I now have the authority to relieve you of these criminals.”

The Captain looked confused for a moment, then stood firm.

"What is the meaning of this? "Who are you?"

Briggs sighed. "You are wasting time, Captain ... I am the Commandant’s secret aid. I was sent here to spy on Miguel Cordova's brother, Evan. Surely you have been informed."

Rollin looked up, surprised. But he said nothing.

Dan continued. "Captain, I can tell you nothing. The Commandant will explain this whole condition when you see him..." He moved toward Rollin but suddenly froze. Baca had a pistol aimed at his head.

"You better explain what you know." Traise leaned back against a wall and folded his arms.

Dan's voice was lowered in an urgent whisper. "You will force me to divulge information only the Commandant has a right to speak on."

"And if you do not start explaining, you will be shot through the head," the Captain retorted.

"All right, but I want it known NOW that I will deny ANY information if we are caught behind enemy lines." Briggs ignored the soldier's confusion and started his tale. "We discovered Evan Cordova over an hour ago - DEAD. A terrorist band of Liberty swine apparently discovered his visit to this establishment, and murdered him. They thought him a traitor to their cause."

"Wait a minute!" Baca cut in, looking from Traise to the informer. "Are you saying the Libertance KNOW we are holding these two here?" He waved his hands in Rollin and Cinnamon's direction.

"Of course, you idiot!”

Traise could feel sweat break out on his brow, "I'll call the Commandant to confirm your story and get back ups if necessary." He reached for the telephone receiver.

Again Briggs sighed in disgruntled frustration. "Don't be a fool. The reason I am taking these prisoners to District Eighteen is because our Commandant is no longer in the 12th District! The Libertance rebels have already moved in!"

"Impossible!" Traise shouted, "We have weeks before ..."

"They stormed the 12th, l5th and 25th Districts, Captain." Dan vibrated back. "The Liberty Party demanded immediate control. Our government refused, so gorilla troops were sent out from their side. All this happened in a matter of hours…”

"If what you say is true WHY wasn't I informed?"

"No time. By the second we realized what was happening in the l2th, the area was completely surrounded. The Commandant had no choice but to order his men to withdraw. Some were taken prisoner but others, as I've said, moved on to District Eighteen."

"What about the President?" Baca asked, nervously.

"He has been replaced as well. The Liberty leader, Nazinski, has ordered Polaria's other districts to give up."

The Captain shook his head in disbelief. "No you're lying," he said, calmly. He stood straight and motioned Baca to keep the gun trained. Traise picked up his telephone's receiver and began to dial. "I will prove you are a fraud," he said.

The dial tone spanned off and rang twice.

"Twelfth District, Liberty Headquarters," a strong male voice answered.

The Captain dropped the earpiece and looked at Dan in horror.

                 *          *         *         *         *          *

With a small smile of satisfaction, Miguel hung up the phone and climbed lazily down the telephone pole.

That American, Daniel Briggs was talented. He wondered if anyone else would have predicted Traise's actions with such crystal clarity.

"Oh, how I would love to see the Captain's expression at this moment," Cordova wished aloud.

                *          *         *         *         *          *

"My God! It's actually true! It's happened!" Traise shouted. "The Libertance HAVE taken over," ... and a civil war had begun.

"But, there IS hope." Briggs said, quickly. "The l8th District is equipped with Polaria's weapons arsenal and that hasn't been taken yet. If we can get there before midnight on the twenty third, we'll be able to help our army secure a base. As I said, that is where the Commandant is stationed now. I have enough emergency food and provisions in my car to last a three day drive for two people." He looked seriously at Baca and Traise, "You two take the car. Another vehicle will arrive shortly for myself... and these two. Now what about your other officers?"

“Baca and I are the only men here. The others left an hour ago for a dinner break. We don't expect then back until seven."

"Good. They will get word of this disaster once they reach the city. They'll know to stay away.”

Baca spoke, "Why do we have to take THIS vermin with us? Why bother wasting the food and water? Let's kill them and get it over with.”

As the two vermin in question, Cinnamon and Rollin glanced at one another and silently seethed.

Briggs looked exasperated by Baca's words. “Because we need something to exchange should we get into a position where soldiers are captured. Our military stands a good chance of winning this war, but we must have some sort of bartering power. They are still useful."

Before another word could be uttered gunshots rang out around the outside of the prison.

"The Libertance!!!" Baca shouted in fear.

Dan looked at Rollin and Cinnamon and was genuinely confused. This was not a part of their plan! But they certainly could use it. "You'll have to run for the car!"

"We'll be shot!" Baca cried, no longer the tough soldier.

Briggs took Traise's gun from his hand and pointed it at the male and female prisoners, now standing together. It was obvious that neither knew what to expect but trusted Briggs judgment. Dan wasn't so sure their faith was justified. If the shots weren't coming from Cordova they could all be in big trouble.

“I’m staying here, with them. It may be too late for us but YOU still have a chance. Go to the Commandant and explain our situation. Hurry! I’ll continue to wait for the second car.”

More shots rang out.

Traise and Baca dashed for the exit. Easing up to the outside door's framed, glass window, they saw the black limousine parked beside short, green bushes, just as Tolsovich described. Bullet holes scarred the sides but the tires hadn't been punctured. For the moment a rapid fire ceased. The enemy was reloading.   

He and Baca made a mad dash for the vehicle and were again shot at, but untouched.

Once inside, the lieutenant ground the motor to a shrieking pitch, ignoring his commander's worried call that he might flood the car's engine. Then, they pulled out of the prison yard with furious speed. A thick layer of dust followed the car as the two soldiers sped to shelter.

“The phone call was brilliant, Dan!” Rollin said, lifting his hands so Briggs could untie the rope that bound them together. "How did you manage without Barney?"

"Cordova." He cut the rope with a small, sharp knife. "When in jail years ago, his bunk mate was a revolutionary interested in scientific equipment. Miguel learned a good deal from him."

"That's lucky." Cinnamon smiled, "It's also good that you were able to find armament. Where did the guns come from?"

Dan split the rope around her wrists and frowned, "I don't know."

She looked hard at him.

Their leader shook his head. "Maybe Cordova was able to find something after I left, but the shots weren't in our original program. Though, they were certainly effective in the end.”

As if struck by something new, they all looked at each other in surprise. Conveniently, the firing stopped just as the enemy left.

They heard nothing more.

"I have something to ask," Rollin said as they walked to the exit. "Where did you get the new suit and find that get-a-way car? They didn't just leave here in our old truck.“ He was eyeing his chief with keen esteem.

"Cordova was being trailed when he left here, and I simply borrowed the original informers... paraphernalia."

Although relieved that all appeared to be running well, Cinnamon was still apprehensive. Trained suspicion had taught her quite a few things in the past, and the thought of 'luck' was more than difficult to believe. All things considered, they had been terribly fortunate. Naturally, the agents' skills had been used to superior effectiveness.... but the mysterious gunfire still worried her.

As she walked with Rollin and Dan, Cinnamon contemplated what had happened. The facts just weren't adding up. She only hoped Miguel would be able to clear things up once they met him. And, if he had no explanation, she would have to resort to an old saying Mother used to quote: “Never kick a gift horse in the teeth." But Mother hated mysteries too.

Off in the distance, two elderly men in military uniforms sat back in the tall, green grass. They smiled when recognizing two of the people walking up the dusty, erratic path.

The young woman and her beloved Miguel were safe.

The men poked their weapons back into ancient holsters and stood. If they hurried, their wives might have supper waiting when they arrived at home.

                    *         *         *     

Cinnamon stared up into Miguel's gentle, blue eyes and smiled.

The scenario was a complete duplicate of their earlier parting, except with opposite results. The couple was standing on the same spot, at the same station (with new owners), waiting for the same bus - while preparing to say good-bye.

The difference lay with Rollin and Dan standing patiently next to their beat up truck, politely out of earshot. And, with the fact it was Miguel's turn to leave Cinnamon. He would be driven to Copalina, where he'd be met by an American diplomat. There they would discuss a possibility of the Polarian becoming a citizen of the United States of America.

"Will I ever see you again?" He paused and smiled, "What is your real name?"

"Cinnamon." She returned his smile.

"That's lovely." He noticed how tactfully she dismissed the initial question.

"I'm going to miss you, Cinnamon."

"And I you."

Tenderly he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the woman. They stood entwined in a meaningful hug for several minutes. Over her shoulder Miguel couldn't help a second glance at Rollin Hand.

Hairpiece and makeup had been removed and he stood tall, lean and darkly handsome. It was easy to see why a woman might be attracted to him. Cordova knew as soon as he saw the couple walking together (after   their rescue) that Hand was Cinnamon's secret attraction. Their relationship was still budding, he knew, but possibilities were endless. Miguel envied him.

Cinnamon reached up a little and kissed the Polarian gently on the cheek. She whispered in his ear, "Be good."

When they parted, Miguel gave her hand a last squeeze, then broke contact. He stepped into the awaiting bus and waved at the sad woman as it pulled out of the station.

Miss Carter sighed. The second time hadn't been easier.

               *         *          *         *         *         *         

In the private aircraft Dan, Cinnamon and Rollin were stretched out in separate seats, trying to relax. They were all very pleased with the outcome of their last mission. Influential people were told by Cordova what treachery went on behind Polaria's Nationalist Party and HIS illegal captivity. Events were investigated then proper arrests made, but it was the general opinion by all that Cordova was doing the 'right' thing when he announced a defection to the United States. Polaria's Liberty Party and America were getting along famously, as was expected, so no fuss would be made over Miguel's curious action. Curious to those who didn't know better.

All this had been acclaimed over the two way-radio positioned in the airplane’s cockpit.

Cinnamon closed her weary eyes and sat back while her neck lay against the chair's headrest. 'How nice it's going to be to indulge in little luxuries such as a warm bath and soft bed'. The first thing she was going to do before stepping foot into the apartment had to do with a two-inch steak, potatoes, mushrooms and cheese bread. Her diet would be knocked to ruin but Cinnamon compensated the guilt by deciding at least five pounds had been lost while captured in Polaria. Next, after stepping inside, she would bathe and slip into her nice, warm silkish bed - and sleep for two weeks. If the Secretary thought he was going to get her to work any time soon, he had another think coming.

"You're incredible."

Startled, Cinnamon opened her eyes and looked at Rollin as he lay a careful hand to her upper arm. "What?"

"Sorry," he grinned, "but you looked so content ... and pretty."

"Pretty? You MUST be joking. I look like I've just been swept up by a tornado ... and I FEEL like it too."

"After what you've been through for the last few days, you look gorgeous."

"You may thank my make up man," she said with a silly half smile.

He made the sound of gentle mirth. Then, the smile slowly faded.

Her expression was thoughtful through the tiredness and Rollin wished he could hear what she was saying to herself. Cordova? Could Cinnamon still be wondering about his future? Might she be playing a mental game, hoping she could see him again once in the States? Or perhaps ... the woman had feelings of regret? She and Miguel had been close and quite compatible. Could Cinnamon at one time have thought...? Marriage? Did the lovely Miss Carter actually fall in love with Miguel Cordova? Rollin felt a sudden childish wave of jealousy. But shame quickly followed. Cinnamon on was her own woman. She could feel and do exactly what she wanted.

"Cinnamon?" As he said the name, her lovely gray-green eyes opened and looked steadily at his. "Are you okay?" he asked.

 "I'm fine. Thank you for asking," she replied. His concern suddenly lightened a load which had been heavy on her shoulders.

Dan was asleep, snoring softly, so Cinnamon took advantage of the moment and snuggled peacefully into Rollin's arms. He felt so incredibly good, so comforting. And this action, she decided, had the possible advantages of showing the IMF's “Master of Disguise” he was very special to this female member. There were times when she genuinely wondered if Rollin was capable of loving her. Cinnamon smiled. How pleasant it was to think of these two subjects: Rollin Hand and love. Certainly he cared and in private, he went out of his way to show her a sense of humor and inner sensitivity. That accounted for something. But LOVE? Were they in love?

'Oh, why not?!'

For the sake of their jobs, they would have to keep the relationship especially quiet. Dan already suspected something more than mere friendship between his two top notch spies - though he pretended ignorance. Briggs was a good friend and employer, but if matters became too shaky he'd eventually have to relieve the couple of duty.

Intimacy between spies was unheard of. And sadly, it was right. The Secretary was in a position to fire those who dare to be human. Such relationships could jeopardize peace movements throughout the free world. Once, through reports, he had said, "A spy is dedicated to being a complete professional. The job comes first and close, personal contact last...." And he meant every word.

Rollin looked down at the now sleeping head, resting on his shoulder. Cinnamon was as beautiful as ever. He would quench her hurt.

Jealousy aside, Rollin knew he could and would make her forget the handsome Polarian. If she really WAS in love, the sadness would fade -- and he would be there to pick up the pieces. With pleasure!

            *         *          *         *         *         *

When they reached home, another evil event that could change the course of history awaited. A new mission would begin…       

THE END

Rebecca Eisenhuth

April/ May 1983

Updated July 2000.

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